Scarlett
I wake up from a dreamless sle ep. Not because the sun is shining, it isn’t, it’s raining. Someone is
knocking on the door of the Airbnb. A very aggressive knock. At first, I am a bit alarmed and simply sit
up in the bed, clasping the blanket in my hands while waiting to see if the intruder goes away. But when
the knocking returns, I fear I might be in danger. Is this how I die? After all the things I’ve done in my
life? Travel Blogger with No Fears Dies Via Axe Murder at Airbnb. That would really be ironic,
wouldn’t it? Another knock comes, and I look around the room for something to use as a weapon. Until
I hear the voice. “Scarlett? Scarlett, I know you’re in there. You can’t hide forever. I will break the door
down!” I jump out of bed and walk through the house before unlocking the door and opening it. Claire’s
face is a cocktail of emotions. First, surprised that I opened the door. Then angry that I haven’t
messaged her at all and have completely ignored her calls. Then, she looks at my face, her expression
sinks, and before I know it, I’m crying. She’s pulling me into her arms on the soggy front porch. “Oh,
honey,” she says, rocking back and forth as the sideways rain splashes against us.
“Whatever happened, it will be okay.” I don’t believe her. And yet something about a hug from your
sister gives you hope, even if there’s no hope to be found. Eventually, when we are both soaked, we go
inside and snuggle up on the couch with two cups of tea and a mountain of blankets, and for a while,
neither of us say anything. Claire simply waits. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I finally say, my
voice hoarse from crying so much. “You weren’t,” she says, and I blink up at her. But Claire has a warm
smile on her face. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I just mean you were being you. This job seemed
like a dream.” “And it was. Until it became a nightmare. Listen, Claire,” I start to say. And my sister
knows me well enough to know I’m about to apologize. But she just shakes her head. “No. I just want to
know that you’re okay. And I want to know what happened.” “Which part?” I ask. “Where do you want
me to start?” “At the beginning,” she says, and I snort. “What?” “It’s just that... this story includes a
prologue.” “Alright. Well, I put on another kettle of tea then. I would offer one, but considering one of
your plot twists,” she says, looking down at my belly. “I think we’re going to have to cut out the alcohol
for another seven months or so, yeah?” “Yeah...” I sigh. “So the night I wrote the article,” “For CB
Anonymous, yes.” It isn’t until she says the name that I put two and two together. CB. Conrad Bale.
Obviously. Not that I am surprised.
“Right. I may or may not have sl ept with the mystery man,” I admit. “The mystery man who was also
your boss after the fact is also Morgan Bale. Right, I knew it,” she says with a triumphant smile. Then
her eyes widen. “Sorry, it just occurred to me that Morgan Bale... of Bale Resorts... who is a
well-known millionaire.” “Billionaire,” I correct her. “Jesus.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, not
important, go on.” “Well, when I did the interview, he pretended not to know me. So I did the same. He
hired me and then eventually told me that due to a family issue with his brother Conrad Bale, he needed
to appear to be engaged so that when his brother took him to court in an attempt to bypass him as CEO it
would be harder to accomplish.” “So you agreed to a fake relationship clause,” she says. “Yeah,”
“Okay. Wild, even for you, but go on.” “So we traveled. Stayed in the same rooms. In the same bed,” I
tell her. “But he didn’t know you were pregnant.” “No. I figured that out right before we left. And I
wanted to wait to tell him.” I go on, telling her the rest of the story. How we butt heads until he saw that
I was very good at my job and he wasn’t the asshole I thought he was. I told her everything. The bucket
list book and falling for him, and the last night we spent together. By the end of it, we are both crying
again. The kettle is whistling and neither of us are doing anything about it because we are both
emotionally exhausted. “So, what are you going to do?” she asks. “About you and the babies?” “Raise
them alone?” I shrug, my voice still shaking.
“Okay, first of all, you will not be alone, and you know that. You can even move in with us if you
want,” “Claire.” I shake my head. “I can’t do that.” “I mean it, Scarlett. You’ve been through so much.
And I just want to make sure that you and the babies are okay. Unless...” she trails off. “Unless?” I ask.
“Unless you think he’ll come around.” I shake my head, blowing my nose again. “He’s not going to
come around.” “Are you sure?” she asks. “I’m sure.” “But everything you just told me. And the
pictures? Not to mention the bucket list thing,” she says. “The bucket list thing was–” “An agenda?”
She cuts me off. “I don’t think so. Seriously, Scarlett. I might be a realist, but I also know love when I
see it. And a man who holds onto a checklist of your dreams and helps you live those dreams out is not
doing so for his own benefit. He could have hired a travel advisor and come up with an itinerary of a
dozen things for the two of you to do that would have bumped up his ratings. But no. He did the things
you wanted to do.” I nod, my eyes burning from the endless flow of tears. “Even if you’re right, there’s
nothing I can do about it now. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. He’s made that very
clear.” “Oh, men always do and say things to make things clear. But they don’t mean half of it,” she
says flippantly. “Give him a minute. He just needs to cool off before he comes to his senses.” “And if he
doesn’t?” I ask the very real, very possible question. “Then he’s an idiot, and I will be here for you,” she
says. “I know you’re disappointed with me,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?” she asks, and I roll my eyes up to her. “Oh, come on. You have always wished
my life had turned out differently. Admit it,” I say. “I am not going to admit it because it’s not true. Do I
wish you had planned things out a little more in college? Or that you had stayed in college? Maybe. But
also, that wouldn’t be you. That would be me. And you have to live your life your way,” she says, and I
just blink. “I’m sorry. Who are you and what the heck have you done with my sister?” I ask. Claire just
laughs. “Well. During the radio silence over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had a lot of time to think and
reflect. And I realized that I have been a little overbearing and judgmental with you over the years.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Yeah.” She smiles. “Only a little?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes, and I laugh. “All I am
saying is that I’m here for you. And I never want to disagree with your choices to the point that you
don’t think I’m here for you. Or that you don’t come to me to talk, or ask for advice, or even just vent. I
want you to come to me, no matter what.” I smile with a wobbly chin and hug my sister. Because I
know she means it. Despite how sad and lonely and lost I am, it feels very, very good to have someone.
Even if I have lost the love of my life.